


Hands

by BadOldWest



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: F/M, Smut, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/BadOldWest
Summary: "Mr. Thornton has no complaints about his newly married life. He’s waited for this so long, wanted Miss Hale so badly, and nearly dies from shock every time they can officiate the small, taken-for-granted moments of married life.He has no complaints.He has one complaint."The new Mrs. Thornton has some Victorian Attitudes that need...adjusting. Good thing her husband is up to the task.





	1. Chapter 1

Mr. Thornton has no complaints about his newly married life. He’s waited for this so long, wanted Miss Hale so badly, and nearly dies from shock every time they can officiate the small, taken-for-granted moments of married life. 

He has no complaints. 

He has one complaint. 

Marrying a vicar’s daughter has offered him a steady assurance of virtue, even when misread actions said otherwise. She is by all means a proper, loving, and giving wife. She is good sport, tender and affectionate in their marriage bed. Pleased by his satisfaction and glad to lie with him, share a bed with him, cuddle after he has finished and nearly collapsed on top of her. She enjoys his kisses and soft words and readily supplies her own, gentle hands smoothing down his back once he is sheathed inside her. 

But she doesn’t seem to give in to much passion during those times in the first few weeks, defensively dense to his offers for her to have her turn at pleasure. 

She’ll smile and kiss him once, a chaste peck, and say “Nonsense, my love,” before turning herself to fall asleep. 

And in sleep, her body craves his. 

They sleep in the same bed, as she once admitted she’d get lonely if he didn’t stay, and he would take all she would willingly give to him. 

And while her mind rests, her body often rouses, often with his seed still inside her. Her body would seek contact with his, snuggling, often fully wrapping limbs around him. 

And that, unfortunately, was agony. 

Margaret is certainly no prude, she readily joked about their lovemaking as they prepared for bed, kissing him, running her fingers through his hair. But she is always on her back and only allows for  _ him _ to take control of things. His stumbling mentions of methods for her pleasure, of hands and mouth and other alternative means, are waved away as though they were trifling indulgences. 

It bothers him. He has no complaints of personal satisfaction, but that lack of complaint makes him feel brutish. Not knowing how she likes it, if she likes it at all, is killing him inside. 

He’s tried, not pushing her to lascivious acts of pleasure, but trying with lips to her neck and hands clutching her tightly. But kisses under her ear only make her shrug her shoulder as though being rudely tickled, and she seems to be made more anxious from his attempts than anything else. 

In some late hour with no sign of light, he feels her body curving against his, her backside rubbing suggestively against his groin. He can feel a heat radiate off of her. And the nerves caused by this problem have him awake immediately. She rolls over, her face buries itself in his neck with a soft moan, and while this would usually have him overjoyed, he can’t help but be in agony. She only reacts this way to him in sleep. 

He’s had his wife, many times. But he never  _ possessed _ his wife.

Tentatively, he strokes a hand over the curve of her hip. It’s a gentle slope he loves to explore when they spoon together. 

Another moan, caused by a dream, is what breaks him.

“My love?” he finally whispers, voice cracking. 

“Hmm?” she snuggles closer before waking fully. She takes notice of the way she’s entwined their bodies and pulls away, startled. “Oh, forgive me.”

He grabs her hands. “There’s nothing to forgive. Please, stay.” 

She lies still, exactly where she is. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

He rolls towards her “What?”

Margaret covers her face with her hands, “Draping myself over you so wantonly… it’s not proper…”

“My love,” he sort of scoops her into his arms, cuddling her in a very chaste way. Affectionate, unjudging, “I do not mind a lack of propriety from my wife. I welcome you to do as your body commands, and I… I wish for less propriety, at times. Some wantonness.” 

His wife is very still in his arms. 

“I am frightened of what you ask of me, John,” she whispers in a little voice, and again, he’s kicking himself. 

“Merely for mutual pleasure in our marriage bed,” he answers gruffly, stroking her hair. 

“Oh,” she’s upright, soothing with her nurturing eyes, gentle hands, “I am pleased, John, I am very happy with you. I love you. You mustn’t worry about…”

“It is important to me.”

She is reminded of the firm master of the mill she had met upon first sight of him. Unrelenting, terrifying. 

“Why?” she answers meekly. 

He softens, snuggling into the crook of her neck and kissing it gently. He only does it once, trying not to overwhelm or overstimulate, and the shudder he provokes is exactly what he’d hoped for. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

Again, she is flippant. 

“That’s not important, do not worry about me, such concerns aren’t proper.”

He rolls himself on top of her, holding his weight off of her fully. She feels caged under him. He isn’t like this in their bed. Predatory. Sinful. Tempting...

“Banish such thoughts from this bed. Is my pleasure in your body wicked to you?”

“No,” she breathes.

“Then please, allow yourself the same. We are equals, are we not?”

“I was told not to expect…”

She turns her head to the side, lulling on the pillow, her eyes cast away from him. Her hand toys with the edge of the bedsheet. 

Her husband, her wonderful, proud, hardworking, devoted husband leans down to kiss her reassuringly. 

“Please, also banish your expectations for how these relations were taught to you. I won’t demand your immediate ravishment. All I ask is you let me try to please you, and give me the honesty I need to get you to such states.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Would you do it, if I said it would give me even more pleasure to know I was not alone in such a state?”

His hips fit between hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. She’s never felt like this before. While awake, at least. She of course always wanted John, was eager to go to bed with him each night. But it was in the way she looked forward to his kisses, the absences of his body felt as though she’d been stuck inside from her walks when the weather was poor. Disappointed but not deprived. Nothing like the deprivation she feels now. In this particular moment, she probably would have agreed to nearly anything. Her body has roused itself for his as she slept and was humming for him to touch her, fill her. She is in no state to argue anymore, with his hips teasing hers, proving his point. 

All at once, the prospect of this unknown place terrifies her. She clings to his shoulders and trembles, clinging in a way that would allowed him to take anything. Gently, he peels her away, returning them to their spooned positions. 

“Shh, I do not demand complete surrender. Go back to sleep. I just wanted us to discuss pursuing this matter, and we will.”

She nods against his chest. 

Still, quick naughtily, his lips work up her bared neck, from shoulder to under her ear. Once his lips part to suck the sensitive skin under her ear, she whimpers, writhing against him. Satisfied enough by this reaction, he returns to the position of a respectable husband. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispers, and her heart longs for him, as though he’s suddenly very far away. 

Her mind is more awake than ever before. Rushing nerves overtake her. But her husband sleeps with a soft smile on his face. Cuddling closer, she senses the lack of tension in his body. It’s overwhelmingly attractive, his sleeping form, cuddling and trusting and unguarded. 

Margaret resolves to give him anything he asks for, before slipping back into slumber. 


	2. Chapter 2

Margaret waits in the library, thinking on her husband’s proposal. 

Of course, he’d made it that way, rolling her onto her back when he woke and kissing her in the he only did to  _ initiate _ their time in their bed, not end it. But all too soon, as her body adjusted to the idea of that new, sleepy sensuality, he had pulled away, kissed her properly, chastely, as he usually did before leaving for work. She lay back in bed with her heart pounding.

Later on, in the library, she still waits, thinking of that morning and the night before, stabbing needle into her thumb for the millionth time from distraction. 

Her husband has clearly thought about the matter a great deal, for him to so forwardly insist the topic needed discussion. He was the type of man to gather evidence first, she reasons, eyes glazing over the bookshelves for the millionth time as though she’d find an answer there. Her eyes had been flickering around the room since she sat down and pretended to work on her needlepoint, but looking down at it she’d only advanced about five or so stitches in the past half hour. 

She just hasn’t seen the problems he raised. The New Mrs. Thornton only has the fondest memories of her wedding night. Dropping her sewing into her lap, she indulges in the memory, chewing her thumbnail and leaning back in her seat. 

_ Her husband already proved he could kiss her, quite thoroughly at that, before their lips formed any kind of second proposal.  _

_ Now that they were engaged -married- she had to mentally correct for another astonishing time, things felt different in her expectations. She had him. Now what to learn what to do with him.  _

_ She would not be the first bride, nor the last, to sit in her bed in wait of her new husband with a sense of anxiety, but that was no comfort to her. In their engagement, he seemed pleased on how his kisses and brief touches left her senseless, but she didn’t see how a man would be pleased to bed a senseless wife. Anxiety deepened to worry. _

_ A shudder ran down her spine -though far from dreadful- when a knock sounded the door.  _

_ “Come in,” she called out, shuffling in her dressing gown, instinctively protecting her modesty.  _

_ The look of tentative, self conscious happiness on his face stopped her heart. All day he’d been this way, as though he wasn’t sure things were really going exactly as he’d wanted for so long. That she’d want him. Have him. Marry him. Return his love.  _

_ “Are you comfortable here?” _

_ He eagerly took his seat on the bed next to her, and looked up after a moment as though he too wasn’t sure step by step how to compose this interaction.  _

_ “Yes,” she said softly, smiling at him, because while he had agonized over his love for her, hers for him was still a pleasant surprise. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. _

_ Hands. This is what they first had, even before love. His bare fingers against hers.  _

_ “I knew your hands, even before I knew your eyes,” she said, as way of guiding them to touch, finally, unbidden. _

_ His fingers captured hers, entwining teasingly, gently massaging her hands to release the tension her nerves had caused. It wasn’t what she expected, but it still felt nice.  _

_ The feature of second mention sparkled for a moment in amusement. “And are my eyes of note for any particular reason?” _

_ Other than embarrass herself to admit the daze the icy blue had caused her, she answered honestly; “Because your eyes always struck me, even when they were angry with me. Especially when they were angry with me.” _

_ His lips found her cheek briefly, apologetically, and she turned to him to ensnare that closeness.  _

_ “But your hands,” she continued, gripping his other hand tighter than she means to, “I understand now, the handshake, the virtue of touch…” _

_ He worked his way down to her wrist, still gently massaging, nodding thoughtfully.  _

_ “Are you nervous about what will happen?” _

_ She nodded, unable to look at him. She was fiery in all things, he suspected in love the most of all, but she was still unsure. He had to find a way to hide his obviously overwhelming feelings for this occasion, and still be capable of guiding her through this. A daunting but rewarding task.  _

_ “Just focus on what my hands are doing,” he said softly, and they slid down her back to gently massage while he kissed her. It was a simple kiss, one that let her focus on what his hand were doing, stroking over the thin material of her nightdress. His mouth was gentle on hers, allowing the circles he traces on her skin to take full effect. _

_ “I know we’ve doubted each other before…” _

_ “Those doubts were my own foolishness,” he soothed, hands moving reassuringly down her spine. _

_ “And mine,” she interrupted a bit stubbornly, forcing him to look in her eyes. “But to have gone through all of it, I would not have understood you as I do now, which is to say,” she powers through his wandering hands, “I know your fear that I am indifferent to you. That I doubt you. But this is my promise to you; my hand will always be here, on the other side of whatever empty space, to clasp in yours.” _

_ His eyes shimmered for a minute with a ripple of emotion, and again, he grabbed the aforementioned hand. _

_ She realized he was trembling, and that pleased her, which she did not expect. To have her husband trembling before her as soon as bared something of herself to him became a pleasure she couldn’t voice.  _

_ He kissed her like he couldn’t control himself, hands tangled in her hair, and laughed and guided his body over hers. _

Her eyes have closed over the memory, her embroidery hoop falling to the ground in her distraction. That’s where her confusion lay. She has received pleasure that night; full, joyous happiness. There was the expected pain, but she had made her most beloved person happy, and wasn’t that her duty to him as a wife? What was this talk of displeasure, when coming together is the greatest happiness she’s known? She now, for the first time, longs for a child to be growing inside her, for maybe that would settle this discussion, or at least end it. 

“My love?”

Her husband fills the doorway of the room. She flushes, as though he caught exactly what she was thinking of. 

“You’re back early,” which she smiles at, because with him, early is relative. It’s now dusk. He looks tired, the effects of an eventful, busy day, and she looks down at her five useless stitches that will probably have to be redone. 

He crosses the room and crouches in front of her. She’s seen him kneel at his mother’s side, when he didn’t know she was able to see, to quietly ask for advice or comfort. The gesture gives a small hint at a transition, the start of which comforts her greatly. 

“I’d like to continue our discussion.”

“Have you eaten?”

“We’ll dine after we talk a moment. I won’t keep you hungry.”

“But yourself, that’s what I’m worried about,” her hand smoothes his hair back. He leans readily into her touch. 

He wants her because she’s such a physical creature, and while her touches are demure, he knows they will translate in passion in a way he may lose his mind over. It’s the first time he wonders if he’s playing with fire, it he will survive a fully woken Margaret. 

“You’re flushed quite prettily here,” he touches one of her cheeks with his knuckle. “And here,” a swipe at the skin exposed at the base of her throat, “Were you thinking about our conversation?”

“I…” she casts her eyes to the floor, “I was concerned. That you are unhappy with me.”

His crouch turns to a full kneel, arms gathering around her waist as he looks up at her.

“No, no my love. I could never be unhappy with you. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am  _ happy, _ ” she says, sounding not at all happy.

He sighs, resting his head on her lap for a moment. She strokes her fingers in her hair until he lifts his head again. She’s so at ease touching him. The thoughts that it prompts, her fingers touching him elsewhere...he grabs her hands in his, holding them gently. 

“I just can’t find a way to put to words...the way you’ll understand. But when you do, all these doubts and confusion will be crystal clear.”

“So you cannot speak of it, but you can make me understand?”

His eyes cloud for a moment. He prays she’s permitting what he thinks she’s permitting. 

“If you trust me,” he says softly. 

She looks at him as if that should be obvious, “then go ahead.”

His hand wraps around her ankle, slowly touching the skin at the back of her calf. She shivers. 

“I won’t push you farther than I think you can handle,” he whispers, which worries her again.

Before she can rush in with questions, he kisses her, free hand cupping the back of her neck as his hand works its way up her skirts. Clumsily, he realizes he’s crept up between layers instead of underneath them and briefly becomes untangled in her petticoat. He frees himself, this time dipping under the right cover, and gently works his way through her garments to bare skin. She hisses softly when he strokes over the place his body met hers. 

His finger doesn’t go as deep as his cock, obviously, merely curls at entrance, stroking the soft flesh. Much to her shame, she can feel her body responding, almost instantly, in the most wanton of ways. Her hands fly up to cover her face. 

“Are you alright?” he whispers.

She does not feel utterly doomed, but isn’t any less fearful. She nods weakly. 

His free hands gently pries one of her hands free from her face, the other left combed into her hair, propping up her cheek. 

“I’d like it if you didn’t hide. It would help me greatly,” he says, and his low voice is so sweet and pleading she grabs the hand holding hers so both hands grip one of his, the other teasing her hips into little bucking movements in her seat. She grips him tight, he presses fervent lips to their entwined hands as he watches her respond to his gentle, coaxing touches. His thumb fumbles around for the hand on her is sightless, and finds the bundle of nerves he knows will help. She instantly slumps backwards in her seat, a high-pitched noise keening out of her throat. 

He can’t help but vocalize his triumph in a quieted laugh, pressing kisses all over her face. 

“Hush, my darling,” he instructs gently.

She flushes deeply at this, and he regrets his instruction that was merely brought up for practicality, not pleasure. They could not be heard here, in all places.

“Do not fret, such noises please me greatly. I am starved for you by them. However, I do not wish for us to be found out.”

She nods in response, wordless.

“How do you feel?”

“O-overwhelmed,” she sighs out, her hips arching at the crooking touch of the finger inside her. His thumb finds a steadier rhythm and nearly undoes her. 

“Do you understand now?”

Her eyes open, and he sees her, vulnerable and open for him, trying for him, trying to be good for him. It breaks his heart. 

“I’m starting to,” she says, freeing a hand to comb into his hair, as she knows he loves the feeling. 

“Do I please you?” He’s eager, and she nods despite herself, despite her fear, despite her mild disgust at being reduces to a harlot with so simple a touch; two fingers and a few kisses. 

She nods, and he attacks her with a kiss, fingers moving in a steady but speedier pace, and all at once, despite confusion, despite a feeling she tried to suppress, she’s overwhelmed by a spasm that has her limp on the couch, clinging to any part of his she can reach. His free arm wraps tightly around her, holding her like a prize, as she unravels. This seems to be his victory, but Margaret is only all the more confused. 

They are both breathing heavily, slumped against each other. He raises himself off the floor and takes a seat beside her, cuddling her against him as she seems to need after the moment that has overtaken her. She snuggles under his arm, head against his chest. 

He tucks a loose curl back into place. “And no one will ever know what occurred here. Isn’t that a bit exciting?”

His wife is so thankful for that. She tries to calm herself, but her hands are trembling. These feelings are uncomfortable, not because they are bad, but very much the opposite. She battles doubt and fear again, even pressed up against him, but he seems satisfied and kisses her brow, murmuring about how beautiful she is. 

“We’ll have supper and reconvene this evening,” he promises, his voice dark and dripping with lust. 

She grips his hand tightly, only worried about how she will stand it all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! I'm new to the fandom and want to make friends!!


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